The Old Cyberspace Attic

It's hard to imagine, isn't it? A treasure chest that no one wants to open--not much joy in that, is there?

But if we look, I'm sure that there are areas of our lives or those close to us that we let go untouched, unsearched, unopened for whatever reason.

Just today a friend of mine said this to me. "I feel like I have an old treasure chest that no one wants to open."

She was referring to her years of old collected journals--diaries she has poured her heart and soul and life's blood into for her children, her grandchildren and all of her descendants.

She is a lot like me in ways--always wishing that she had known her ancestors a little bit better, listened to their tales of teams of oxen, wagons, corn-husk dolls and young saplings used for bucking broncos just one more time, lingered on the front porch shelling peas with them just a smidgen longer, took another sip of that cold iced tea as she listened to one more story about their barn dances and cake walks.

I guess that is one reason why I blog.

Maybe the kids and grandkids are too busy today.

I remember what it was like trying to raise three little boys--laundry room, grocery store, kitchen, repeated over and over with ballgames, school conferences, church and job tucked somewhere in between and then the rotation started all over again.

Even though I think of us as a close-knit family, maybe someday they will wish they had known me just a little better.

It is then that they will have the choice of pulling these old writings out of the web--kinda like an old cyberspace attic.

I really wish my parents and grandparents had left journals.

I pour over ever printed word I can find that they wrote with their own handwriting, even scribbled recipes.

My dad always wrote little notes on baccalaureate programs and napkins, of all things, from memorable days or evenings.

I once read a story about an elderly gentlemen whose grandson wanted a certain red sports car for his college graduation.

Thinking his grandson might have his priorities just a little out of whack, the old gent gave the grandson his old, leathered Bible, with a half-century of handwritten notes in the margins, for a graduation gift.

However, tucked deep in the middle of the Bible was the key to ......yes, you guessed it--the brand new car with a note attached telling him of his gift and its location at the local car dealer's lot.

I'll let you decide what ending you want that story to have.  

One nugget I remember finding was this one--It was shortly after my mother-in-law passed away and I had inherited her set of Daily Guideposts devotional books.

She used to write notes in the margins--can you imagine how many tears I shed the day that I came upon this one?

What if I had never opened her devotional book?

She wrote this about 13 years before she died on the day that her husband passed away.

I can't believe I found it.

The raw hurt of losing a spouse of forty-six years was spilled simply but devastatingly across that page. SVI is the abbreviation for St. Vincent's Infirmary.

This is a picture of her. The little gold compact with the bells on it was a Christmas gift from my father-in-law to her early in their marriage.

Won't you take the time today to look for the unexpected? Search for a little hidden treasure. Who knows what you might find!

And while we are at it, why not search the greatest journal of all--of course, that's the Bible--our true treasure chest.

Prov 2:1-5

My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you,  turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding,  and if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding,  and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure,  then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God.

True joy is found in seeking.

Turning another page,

Dianne

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